


paradise (and we have made it so)

by bokutoma



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Based on another work of mine, Falling In Love, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Nonbinary Linhardt von Hevring, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Oops, References to Depression, Too much information, Underage Drinking, but i want u to know he's nb, i'm labeling it m/m bc they both sorta identify as guys, it's really just The High School Experience for mentally ill kids, linhardt uses he/him pronouns, loose adherence to canon, rn only vague references to drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: it shouldn't take another person to break linhardt out of this perpetual stupor, he knows, but the new kid is far more intriguing than he'd like to admit.and perhaps they need each other more than either can really say.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a perfectly unremarkable day when the Eisner family had moved into town. It wasn’t that Linhardt necessarily thought it should be remarkable - he was far too logical for flights of fancy - only that it would have been poetic.

There was no reason for him to have noticed as quickly as he did, considering how apathetic he was to everyone but a select few, not to mention that simple fact of his age (one grade, one year below the new boy), except that Caspar was quite possibly incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Even the slam of his cafeteria tray against the table was loud, definitive in almost the same way Linhardt’s own quiet was.

“Did you hear?” he yelled, drawing the attention of the next two tables over.

“No, but I suspect I’m about to,” Linhardt drawled, head slumped against his face. He’d never really been one for eating, especially if he didn’t have to, and he certainly wasn’t regretting that decision looking at Caspar’s food, shapeless and washed out like damp, crumpled laundry “Should I take a guess, or will you clarify?”

“There’s a new transfer in the senior class! Hubert told Edelgard, who told Ferdinand, who told Lorenz, who told Raphael, and Raph told me.” Every sentence Caspar spoke seemed to be punctuated by an exclamation point, and as far as his love for his best friend extended, Linhardt was exhausted already.

“How interesting,” he said, his voice blander than Cas’s food.

“I know, right?” Caspar has become very good at ignoring the sleep-based disinterest that so often laced his tone. “Apparently, he’s not talking to anyone, but Hubert thinks he’s some kind of genius or something.”

“The word Hubie used was _savant_ , Caspar dearest,” a smooth, feminine voice said as its owner slid onto the bench beside him. “Honestly, if you’re trying to pique Lin’s interest, you should at least use the right words.”

As much as he wanted to dispute what she was saying, Dorothea was right. There was no better way to intrigue Linhardt than with the promise of a fascinating new subject of study. 

“Well, if you’re so clever, you tell him!”

Dorothea smiles in a self-satisfied way that told Linhardt that was the opening she’d waited for. “Gee, I’d be so happy to!”

She turned the full force of her emerald gaze (princess cut, a distant part of his mind decided, the part that never really stopped rehashing everything he’d learned from Wikipedia deep dives), and he wondered if this was the part where normal people ran.

“Okay, so you’ll have to take this with a grain of salt, because as thorough as Hubie is when he gets gossip for Edie, he tends to mix it with his own opinion, which is never particularly...forgiving,” she said, face shining in the way it only did when she was relaying a particularly juicy bit of information or taking her place on stage, transforming into another person entirely. “But he was watching the new kid during their math class, right, and he never said a word to anyone, but he finished their assignment in like ten minutes! He told Edie it was ‘almost impressive’, and I’ve never heard him say anything that nice about anybody!”

Barring Hubert’s comments, Linhardt was almost disappointed. Although the time was interesting, he himself could probably pull off a stunt similar if he weren’t busy catching naps in the corner of every class. Math was a boring thing to have a talent for; it had been done to death. If Hubert was impressed enough to almost admit to it, though...

Maybe Linhardt was intrigued.

* * *

It wasn’t until after class that he saw the new student for the first time.

He might have missed him entirely, because everyone was unremarkable to him until he got to know them and found out one way or another, except that this new student was anything but.

He was quiet - more than that, he moved like a whisper against silk, a difficult feat to accomplish on linoleum and tile. Knowing this, Linhardt would have expected him to have a look that matched, an expression like the one Ignatz always wore. Instead, he was intense, focused in a way Linhardt rarely saw outside of himself, Edelgard, and Hubert. Even then, it was situational; to the new student, gravity seemed like a lifestyle.

“Curious, are we?” The voice that rasped from behind him was chilling, and if Linhardt weren’t used to being snuck up on by literally everyone he knew, he would have jumped out of his skin. As it was, he felt goosebumps kiss the back of his neck as he turned to meet the Midas-touched gaze of the dark-haired senior behind him.

“No more than you are,” he said, letting his eyes drift shut momentarily. _Micro-naps_ , Caspar jokingly called them, and Goddess, Linhardt wished he was more right. “I’ve heard quite a lot about your thoughts on your new classmate.”

Hubert snorted derisively. “As if any of them comprehend half of what I could be considering.” He tilted his head, studying Linhardt appraisingly as his hair fell away from his face. “Although it seems as though you can reach right into the depths, hm?”

“I wouldn’t dare pretend to understand you,” Linhardt said, boredom already creeping at the corners of his consciousness. “But I am in need of a new diversion. If that’s the answer you were looking for, then I’ll be on my way.”

By the time he made it outside, the new student was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> context

It wasn’t until three days later that Linhardt caught another glimpse of the new student.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, or what passed as trying for him, at any rate. He hung around all the spots a new kid would be likely to frequent (and got an earful from the secretary for stretching out for a nap on the bench outside the office) and had endured all of the gossipings the more outgoing friends of his tended to do, but it had all been for naught.

Until, of course, Dorothea worked her wicked magic.

It was a mere week before Linhardt found her cornering the boy - man, really, he supposed - he had seen with Hubert. He didn’t have either of the usual reactions to having his attention commandeered by Dorothea, which were sheer adoration or total fright. Instead, he merely looked bored: beyond that, really, because there was very little Linhardt could decipher from his expression at all.

It was rather impressive, really.

Before he could reflect more on the hauntingly, terrifyingly empty look on the new student’s face, though, Dorothea had spotted him and was waving her over.

“What?” he said once he had slumped onto a bench. Research didn’t mean he was bound to be polite, after all.

Dorothea shot him a look, but she knew better than to try to chastise him.

“Lin, you should meet Byleth. He’s new here, and I’ve been trying to introduce him to all of us.”

“There’s no need,” Byleth said, and at the sound of his voice, every one of Linhardt’s senses jumped to attention. “I’m fine as I am.”

If he had been anyone else, Linhardt would have privately called bullshit. Everyone had problems with a new environment, but when Byleth said he was fine, somehow, Linhardt believed him.

“Nonsense,” Dorothea said, arching an absurdly perfect eyebrow. “You have us now, and even if you don’t like talking, Lin is great for that.”

He was already half-asleep when she said this, and it took a herculean effort to manage a thumbs up,

Though he had managed to remain stoic up until now, the corner of Byleth’s mouth curved up into the smallest of smiles, and Linhardt found himself almost wanting to mimic it.

“We have to get you involved with some sort of club or extracurricular,” Dorothea was saying, her voice smooth and silky even as she began to draw up a plan that, by the looks of it, Byleth hadn’t even agreed to. Idly, Linhardt wondered why the theatre department hadn’t put on _The Little Mermaid_ yet; clearly the thespian had a voice that could enchant anyone, if everyone let her get away with this sort of thing. “You won’t make any friends if you don’t put some effort into it, even if you are cute.”

And yes, Dorothea was an incorrigible flirt when she wanted to be (and when she didn’t want to be, sometimes), but the real point of interest had always been the reaction, because there always was one, and it was always far more dramatic than it needed to be.

Byleth’s face didn’t change.

Oh, how delightful that was.

“I fence,” he offered noncommittally, though Linhardt might have thought he was talking about his least favorite food for all the enthusiasm he was showing. “Or I used to.”

Linhardt sighed, blowing a stray piece of hair from in front of his face. “PTA banned any activity that could even remotely be construed as promoting violence last year.”

Byleth frowned at that, his eyebrows drawing down in a stern line that Linhardt noticed Dorothea took a particular interest in. “That’s not what my father said.”

“Well, do you believe the people who actually go to this school or the man that probably believed whatever nonsense he was fed by a staff that gets paid not only per student, but who regularly get donations from a group of parents that would literally rather throw one of their own to the wolves than have their reputations besmirched by anyone, to anyone?”

Dorothea shot him a heavy look, one full of meaning that Linhardt chose to ignore for now.

Byleth’s brow furrowed further. “You sound like you don’t like them.”

Linhardt shrugged. “My dad is a member. I’m privy to all sorts of their bullshit.”

Dorothea cleared her throat with the sort of operatic normalcy only a veteran star could pull off. “Have you considered academics? Lin is technically a member of a few experimental science clubs. If you have your heart set on something physical, though, you could always try out for a sports team. We have a couple of friends that are on...a few, really, and they’re super nice.”

And though Linhardt wasn’t really a people person, he knew all the signs of someone who had checked out of the conversation. “Leave him alone for now,” he said through a yawn. “He’s got enough to do without immediately looking in what he wants to do.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Byleth was grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weekly update here! sorry about the lateness of the upload, i'm not feeling well today


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, so maybe Linhardt was a little less observant than he liked to give himself credit for. He’d been taking a nap in the corner of the library, drifting off somewhere between biographies and world history, and by the time he’d woken up, it was already time for math. Being of the firm belief that no one could _really_ perceive the passage of time, he’d taken his time getting to calculus, and by the time he’d managed to muster the remaining strength required to push the classroom door open, it had ten minutes past when he could reasonably use crowded hallways as an excuse.

Just as he’d determined that he’d just have to take the tardy on this one, he’d locked eyes with the person occupying the far corner seat, the one opposite from his usual spot (prime for napping as it was), and nearly thought them to be a post-sleep hallucination.

It was, of course, Byleth.

If he was surprised to see Linhardt too, then the younger couldn’t tell at all. There was no reason for him to be, though; no one else seemed to be adjusting to a new presence, so Byleth had to have been here since his move.

Seiros, he needed more sleep.

If he spent the majority of that period sneaking furtive glances six rows down, that was Linhardt’s business alone, even if Hubert was sending him knowing smirks from his seat just behind Edelgard.

Research note number one: Byleth's expression never changed once during the entirety of the class, even in the minute. All microexpressions had been wiped clean of his placid face, so even the tiny furrows and smiles Linhardt had noticed before were the exceptions, not the rule.

Research note number two: nobody talked to Byleth. There were no whispers to say hi, no attempts to suss out what the new student was made of. (Perhaps there had been before, but even still, Linhardt would have expected them to persist even now. Everyone he knew was a gossip with far too much free time.) No sly remarks seemed to be pointed his way, meant to intrigue or tease or taunt. Even the teacher, a notorious believer in the virtues of participation, never called on him.

Conclusion (as of this moment): Byleth had an unusual knack for camouflage.

It wasn't as though Linhardt was a stranger to the idea of avoiding attention either, but for him, it had always been an effort. When one grew up labeled something as arbitrarily given out yet apparently important as "gifted", there came a certain point where all but the brightest - not the brightest, he reminded himself, the ones best suited to such an environment - burned out. After that, avoidance had been all but necessary in order to dodge failed expectations.

He had never been Edelgard, and for that, he was almost grateful.

Still, it _had_ always been an effort, one that was bigger than he would ever admit to. To Byleth, it merely seemed a fact of life, and the logistics of this intoxicated Linhardt more than the promise of genius ever could.

When the bell rang, he considered following the senior, trying to catch a word or two.

 _No_ , he decided. It wouldn't do to be another, less effective Dorothea.

Still, he almost regretted the decision as he felt a shadow slither up behind him, cool and sinuous in the way that only one man ever had been, in his experience.

"I thought you weren't curious, hm?" Hubert hissed, and when Linhardt turned to look at him properly, his face was lit by a sinister glee. It was a shame, really, because he would be very handsome if he could get over his proclivity for scowling, sneering, and generally being a miserable bastard. "Whatever happened to that, Linhardt?"

Yeah, he would far prefer that Hubert never say his name again than whatever that had been. "I said I was only as curious as you were," he corrected, shifting his posture in preparation for a quick escape. "And don't lie, Hubert. You _are_ , if only for Edelgard's sake. You can't bullshit me."

If anything, Hubert just looked amused, but there was very little that Linhardt could bother to care about, and frankly, the senior's opinion was far too low on the list to even consider. "Whatever you feel you must tell yourself," he said, but Linhardt was already halfway gone.

"Thanks, so glad I have your permission," he said, slouching away. "Have a nice day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kingblaiddyd


	4. Chapter 4

Linhardt’s second real meeting with Byleth was not orchestrated in the way he thought it would be, by artifice and his own desire. Instead, Byleth sought him out (just another miscalculation that he would gladly add to his research data).

The older of the two settled down beside him on the overstuffed library chair, dark hair falling in his eyes like every lead singer that Linhardt had had a crush on when he was thirteen. It almost seemed like it had been construed to be that way, beautiful for a purpose, except for the fact that the way he blew his hair from his face was supremely unattractive.

"Lin, right?" he asked, voice heavy and deep.

"Linhardt, technically," he replied, dog-earing the book he had been reading. "Only Dorothea really calls me Lin, but you can if you'd like, I suppose."

"Linhardt." It's less a trite repetition and more of a gentle sounding out, like he was tasting it on his tongue. "I like your full name better, I think."

Linhardt snorted, but there was something about Byleth that was endearing, that didn't feel fake. "Me too."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Byleth seemingly forgetting what he'd come over to say and Linhardt more than happy to crack open his book again - pilfered from his father's library, old enough that it could rightfully be referred to as a tome.

Yes, Linhardt was intrigued, but he was friends with Dorothea, for the Goddess's sake. He wasn't going to be _obvious_ about it.

"Oh!" Byleth said suddenly, head jerking up in a motion that Linhardt was more familiar with when waking up from a nap. "I remember what I wanted to ask you."

Linhardt shrugged, the perfect (and very practiced) model of nonchalance. "Ask away."

"Dorothea said you're involved in academics, right?"

"I mean...mostly on a technical basis."

"Oh." A small frown tugged at Byleth's face. "My dad is getting on my case about joining some sort of extracurricular, and I was kind of hoping to find one that someone I knew was involved in."

"And you thought of me?"

Byleth's face tinted, warm and something close to embarrassed. "I don't really know anyone, honestly."

Yeah, okay, maybe Linhardt will take pity on him for that one. "You don't want to do any academics after school, trust me. I only do it when they're desperately in need of someone for meets, or when Lysithea blackmails me into it. It's absolute torture. Half the people who regularly go are the most obnoxious people on the planet."

That tiny frown tugged a little bit deeper. "I don't have the luxury of not doing anything, though, and there's no way I'm going to act with Dorothea."

Linhardt's tastes really needed to graduate from what they had been in seventh grade because he was about to sacrifice _so much_ for the sake of a pretty face. "What if I cut you a deal?"

The small furrow between Byleth's brow disappeared. "Really?"

"Check the terms first."

"Give them to me."

"I'll negotiate you a late tryout spot on the soccer team. There's a coach they bring in sometimes when they're pushing for playoff games or tournaments, and he's a PTA parent. I push my weight around a little, and they'll make that exception for you."

"What's in it for you?"

"Do theatre tech, like, once a week with me. Dorothea has been pestering me for at least a year now, but she's got another junior in on it now too, and that bastard isn't above dragging my father into it. I'd rather do it on my terms. Same problem, really. Just an added layer of politicking to it."

Byleth looked thoughtful in the way that quiet people often did, which was to say that he looked absolutely vacant. Still, Linhardt had faith he would make the right decision; Hubert was interested enough to run interference, after all, and that meant some level of cleverness and at least one strain of desperation.

"Deal," he said after a moment. "But I don't really know anything about theatre. My dad has never been into the arts."

Linhardt snorted. "Don't worry, everyone will be more than happy to give you the rundown. If you want, though, my friend Caspar and I get dragged to a lot of fine arts events. I'll take the excuse not to hang out with the rest of the PTA kids."

Something close to gratitude lit up in Byleth's eyes, and that alone made it half worth it.

* * *

The shock and awe on Caspar's face as Linhardt breezed past him on the sideline of the Garreg Mach pitch ranked at about five on his running list of "Times I've Turned Cas's World Upside Down". Frankly, Linhardt thought he at _least_ deserved number four this time.

Although, it _was_ slightly mollifying to derail the entirety of the boys' soccer team's practice with his mere presence. Only Dimitri and Felix were still working on...whatever their drill was, two of a kind even if neither of them wanted to admit it.

"Hevring!" Raphael called from across the field, right before an errant ball collided with his chest. Linhardt didn't know him, antisocial as he was, but the other junior had always been nothing but nice, so he graced him with a half-wave back.

The coach was less welcoming.

No matter. Linhardt was born to walk the line between throwing fits made for a diva and flaunting his wealth like it was his to abuse.

Frankly, his father would be proud.

Sickening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kingblaiddyd on twitter PLEASE don't spoil me for cindered shadows unless u wanna tell me yuri is hot


	5. Chapter 5

Dorothea was, in Linhardt's not so humble opinion, rather ridiculously enthused by the idea of cheering Byleth on at his impromptu tryout.

"Come _on_ , Lin," she said, using that particular tone of voice that had suitors tripping over themselves just to please her. "You've done this much for him. You might as well reap the rewards."

"And your outstanding appreciation for the soccer team has nothing to do with this?" he returned, dry as one of Ferdinand's jokes.

"Please, if this was for me, you know we'd be going to one of the girls' practices. The new kid may be cool, cute, and mysterious, but I'd rather not get near Sylvain unless I have to. Just because we're friends doesn't mean I have to _like_ him."

"Saints forbid," Linhardt agreed. "You're just proving my point. Why on earth would I put either of us through that torment?"

"Because you totally have a thing for him." Apparently, Dorothea seemed to think that flipping her hair was the same thing as coming up with a really decisive argument, and did so as if to highlight the absurdity of the whole discussion.

Purposefully obtuse it would have to be, then. "For Sylvain? I'm so glad you have such a high opinion of my tastes."

The look Dorothea gave him told him he hadn't fooled her even a bit. "Don't even try to hide it, Lin. Hubie dropped this one on me, said you're calling it research to hide it."

"Ah, yes, because I always trust Hubert von fucking Vestra when it comes to the machinations of the heart. He's _so_ good at giving advice."

"Alright, smartass. Tell me why you set up this tryout for him, then. Caspar said it was a whole thing, that you strode in there like...well, I won't say who, but you can guess."

Yeah, Linhardt sure could. "Quid pro quo. He's signing up for tech, too, so now I don't have to bear the burden alone and _you_ don't go to a higher power."

"I would never-"

"But Ferdinand would."

"Yes, Ferdie is a bit of a snitch," she agreed. "Fine, maybe you're not hopelessly in love with him, but you seem to at least _kind_ of like him, and you have to admit that's rare for you."

Here was the thing: Linhardt liked to avoid conflict wherever possible, but that also meant knowing when to give in. Dorothea could badger like nobody's business, and frankly, he wasn't in the mood to test.

"I suppose so," he said, and that was that.

* * *

If one ever wanted to hear their name shouted at a deafening volume and with enough enthusiasm to make anyone look twice, they would need look no further than being acquaintances with one Caspar von Bergliez. To be his best friend, however, induced on even more joyous reaction.

"Linhardt!" Caspar screamed as the said boy and Dorothea made their way to the sideline of the soccer field, vowels drawn out enough to make any commentator proud.

"Bergliez!" the coach shouted, and the lap that Caspar had started to make toward them turned into a loop.

"Cute," Dorothea said offhandedly, and Linhardt whipped his head around in scandalized shock. "Oh, don't be like that. It's like a little brother thing."

"Good," he grumbled, eyes already darting toward the approaching coach.

"Mr. Hevring," the coach (Linhardt probably needed to learn his name, but the day that would happen was, in all likelihood, not this one) said, carefully neutral but for the slight edge of disdain to his words. "I hope your little friend is worth all this effort. I'm not letting him in based on your demand."

"Charming to talk to you as always," Linhardt said in lieu of a real response, and with considerable disdain, the coach moved on.

"Well, he's delightful," Dorothea scoffed, and with that, they settled down onto the grass as Byleth jogged onto the field.

Oh, for the love of everything holy.

"Hot damn," Dorothea whistled.

She was right. Byleth normally dressed about as average as could be, all plain shirts and blue jeans, but like this, he was a vision of athleticism, all toned muscle and jersey. Perhaps this shouldn't have been a surprise, all things considered, but Linhardt found that if he hadn't had at least some sort of attraction before, well...he could certainly feel the spark of such interest now.

Byleth looked up from where he had been staring, eyes darting with intensity between each of the players, and locked eyes with Linhardt. Dorothea waved beside him, but Linhardt found he was able to do little more than nod. This, however, seemed like something Byleth understood, and a small smile broke the otherwise impassive look of his face, and he seemed to settle into a ready position.

Linhardt, if pressed, might have confessed that he didn't know _everything_ there was to know about soccer. He knew enough, of course; Caspar certainly had talked enough about it, and he himself had read much in order to keep up with his best friend's games. Still, he didn't exactly know how a tryout was necessarily conducted, much less when there was only one participant.

He did, however, know enough to understand that the odds were stacked against Byleth.

His team had fewer players, and when he was meant to show off his individual footwork, more defenders were placed on him than Linhardt had ever seen, despite regularly showing up for Caspar's tryouts year after year. Byleth was looking for a midfield position, ideally, he knew, but his running speed or endurance weren't being tested and timed.

The coach wanted Byleth to fail. Byleth, as it turned out, did not, and everyone on that field knew it.

With a lazy smile, Linhardt saluted the coach as he welcomed Byleth onto the seat, vindictively content between Caspar's cheers, Dorothea's giggles, and Byleth's small, pleased smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kingblaiddyd ! @kingblaiddyd ! @kingblaiddyd !


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this early update brought to you by kadmin! thanks so much <3

Something Linhardt tended to forget was that, while watching sports was all well and good, if he stayed until the end of any event, Caspar would inevitably rope him into going out to eat with him. Diner time with his best friend was pretty fun, all things considered, but Linhardt was morally opposed to spending time with more than one person at a time.

Still, he found himself packed into a booth with Dorothea blocking his only escape route - she claimed she didn't want to get near either of the other two's sweat, but he knew her plots - and Byleth across from him, poking at sugar packets like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

"Why are we getting breakfast food?" Byleth mumbled, not looking up from where he was spinning Splenda packets. Linhardt had to agree, though Byleth probably didn't mean it quite as disdainfully as he was thinking it.

"Because I can afford it," Dorothea replied, arching a brow in that beautifully dramatic way of hers. "Unlike Lin, we can't all be rich."

"To be rich, I would have to not be on permanent probation."

"You steal shit from your dad all the time!"

"I just thought we would get fast food or something," Byleth interjected, inadvertently stopping what would probably have turned into a heated debate. "Is there anything...lunchier?"

Any response the sane side of the table might have made was drowned out by Caspar's enthusiastic agreement. "I know, right? They barely eat anything, and there's only so much bacon you can order before they eventually cut you off."

"I used to live by the sea," Byleth said, staring at the now-abandoned sugar packets like they contained the secrets of the universe, and wasn't that funny? Linhardt hadn't even had to prod any information out of him. "I miss the fish."

"Well, there's enough _fishiness_ to go around even without the real thing," Dorothea sniffed. "Like, what was that at your tryout? Caspar, there's no way that _wasn't_ rigged, right?"

"Yeah, I really don't know what was going on." Their waitress came by with a plate of hashbrowns; come to a place with a human vacuum enough, and everyone will know what he wants without having to ask. "It was pretty much bull from the start, you know? Even Felix doesn't get tested that hard, and he asks for it."

"Probably my fault." Linhardt nabbed a bite off Caspar's plate purely so he could then wave his fork around for the drama of it all. "Sure, the bitch has gotta listen to the PTA, but me? Insult to injury."

They ordered properly after that, mood more than a little somber, but that was alright. Linhardt had done his best, and it wasn't as though any of the irritation that rolled off Dorothea in near-tangible waves was directed toward him.

"At least you're on the team," Caspar finally offered, only a little of his usual boisterous cheer forced. "Maybe Ferdinand can have a permanent bus buddy! He doesn't like it when I nap on him."

"Don't inflict Ferdinand on poor Byleth before he's even been to a single practice." Linhardt countered dryly.

"What's wrong with Ferdinand?"

It was Dorothea that answered Byleth's question. "Ferdie is a sweetheart, he's just a little clueless. He was a lot worse freshman year before he realized that socioeconomic class did, in fact, vary from his own, which in business terms is called 'fucking rich.'"

Byleth snorted at that, but Linhardt didn't have more than a moment to appreciate the sight before he felt a telltale buzz in his pocket.

"His lordship beckons," he announced, purely so Dorothea would move out of his way. "I must heed his call."

He didn't stay long enough to hear Byleth's inevitable question, and he sure as hell didn't stay to hear what pity-laden answer Caspar or Dorothea would give. Their waitress was returning to their table with their food, and though he should probably be concerned that his best friend would eat his food, Linhardt found he was okay with that.

He didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

Linhardt didn't panic; the idea of doing so only really occurred to him when faced with the sight of blood. No, when confronted with his father's name on his phone, the only thing he felt was a complete and total numbness.

The air was thick outside, sticky heat clinging to him and the layers of his clothes. Perspiration was already beading on his forehead, and when he accepted the call, his phone nearly slipped too - slick palms as he lifted it up to his ear.

"Yes, Father?" he said, syllables crisp and enunciated in a way they were at no other time.

" _Such coldness, Linhardt_ ," the voice at the other end buzzed. " _Surely you have more respect in you for your father, don't you_?"

"Apologies, I know it must have taken a lot to call me when you're so busy." Perhaps he could have sounded less sarcastic, but Goddess, Linhardt was tired. "What do you need?"

" _Do I need a reason to call my son_?" _Yes_. " _I just happened to hear something rather interesting when I was lunching with the Vestras. I thought I would ask you if it was true._ "

And here was the true burden of Linhardt's supposedly charmed life: nothing could ever be private. "I'm not a mind reader, Father. You'll have to elaborate."

" _They seemed to think you were pulling some strings, trying to get some new student or another onto the soccer team. I said that surely couldn't be the case, because that would be a flagrant abuse of power that isn't even yours to wield_."

The silence that followed that statement was more poignant than a question could ever be.

 _Fuck_ the goddamn Vestras.

"I didn't get him on the team, I got him a tryout. I suggested that it would be a waste to not even see how skilled he was, and I was right. He made it onto the team."

" _Mm_." The noose tightened around Linhardt's neck. " _Good decision. The boy's father used to be quite influential around here, so I'm glad you got him in your debt when you had the chance. Perhaps you're not quite so miserable at this as I thought_."

The asshole was fishing for information that he knew the whole time. "I live for your praise."

" _Befriend him, won't you? The Vestras are merely angry that I got to him first. Even you can manage to be charming once in a while, boy_."

Didn't that sting? But Linhardt wasn't the type to cry. "Whatever you say."

" _Good. Try not to disappoint me_."

It wasn't even the callous way that Hevring the senior referred to him that bothered him; Linhardt was long used to being overlooked no matter how exceptional he had tried to be. It was the casual use of the word, "boy" crawling up and down his skin like a thousand furry caterpillars he couldn't displace.

He hung up.

"You don't get along with your father."

Try as he might to conceal it, Linhardt flinched as he turned, only to see Byleth, pancake in hand. "That obvious?" he asked wryly.

A corner of Byleth's mouth lifted. "Pretty obvious even from in there," he replied, knocking on the window. "Plus all that about you stealing."

For the first time in a while, Linhardt felt the need to explain, but Byleth seemed to sense this and shrug.

"It's your business."

That was the best thing Linhardt had heard in years.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you early by anonymous k! thanks so much <333

To Linhardt's mild surprise, on the Monday following their diner excursion, Byleth found him in the cafeteria and sat beside him.

"I didn't know you even ate lunch in here anymore after Dorothea cornered you," he said, pushing his hair back to consider the solemn look on the elder's face. "Thought you learned to photosynthesize or something."

Byleth snorted (which Linhardt had learned to consider akin to a full laugh). "She doesn't sit with you. I think my newness has worn off by now anyway."

"Don't be dumb." Linhardt gestured with his fork to the table further down, close to the door and rather enviable for that position. "See those three?"

There were far more than three people sat at the table he was gesturing at, but even to an outsider like Byleth, it would have been more than clear who he was referring to. All others seemed to radiate outward from Edelgard like she was holding court, Hubert and Ferdinand flanking her like the advisors they might technically be considered as.

"Hubert and his friends?" Byleth asked, and Linhardt nearly choked on a noodle as he nodded. "What about them?"

"They're watching you like hawks. Hubert's pretty good at being sneaky, but the other two are about as subtle as Caspar."

Byleth raised an eyebrow at Ferdinand, who was blatantly staring at this point, and smiled when he looked away. "I know Hubert. He's in a lot of my classes. Why can't he just ask me whatever they want to know?"

"In the time you've known him, does Hubert really seem like the type of guy to be straightforward?"

Byleth shoved a frankly alarming amount of cafeteria pizza in his mouth and raised an eyebrow as if in question.

"They don't know what to make of you yet. You're on the soccer team and you're joining theatre, both of which Ferdinand is involved in, and Edelgard is one of the biggest busybodies in the entire school."

Byleth said something that vaguely sounded like, "And Hubert?"

"Whatever Edelgard wants, whatever he _thinks_ she wants, he does."

"Your friends are weird."

Linhardt laughed, and even the tofu he inhaled couldn't stop him from howling.

Caspar slid into the seat across from them, sweating like he'd sprinted to get to lunch while they were still serving - it wouldn't have been the first time. "What's so funny?" he asked, redder than the frankly alarming pepperoni.

Byleth and Linhardt looked at each other, and there was no stopping the laughter that gripped them both.

* * *

Linhardt, contrary to popular belief, was not an actively nosy person. Of course, being friends with Dorothea, one had to be a certain level of busybody, but most of the time, he didn't go searching for information or gossip. Most of the time, it just happened to fall into his lap.

He was only even still here half an hour after school had ended because Ferdinand had roped him into a discussion of his "expectations" now that Linhardt would be joining the tech crew; it had taken this long to find a way to wiggle out of his lecture.

So when Linhardt said he didn't necessarily intend to be in the right place at the right time, he meant it. Of course, that didn't mean he was going to give up perfectly good intel when it was practically begging to be overheard.

Besides, Byleth didn't _have_ to talk so loudly, and he wasn't even wearing earbuds, which was an absolutely rookie mistake.

"Hey, Dad," he said, voice flat only if you didn't know what to listen for, and by this point, Linhardt knew very well. "Where are you?"

"Up north, kiddo." If he had had to place bets, that jovial, warm voice would _not_ have been Linhardt's first idea of what Byleth's father sounded like. "Are you settling in okay?"

"It's big. Everything. It's okay, though. They don't fence."

"I thought they told me they did?" The voice on the other end sounded more puzzled than irritated, and, almost against his will, Linhardt found himself endeared. "Yeah, they told me it would be just like it was when I lived here."

Wasn't that an interesting tidbit? Perhaps this was the influence Linhardt's own father had been referring to.

Not that he would say anything. Bastard could rot in hell.

"It's not." Trust Byleth to state the obvious; even knowing him for such a small amount of time, Linhardt could have predicted that answer. "I'm on the soccer team now, though, and I think I'm joining theatre or something."

"You think?" There was the telltale sound of laughter in Byleth's father's voice. "Pretty sure you should know the answer to that one, kiddo. Might be important."

"I don't know. My friend said he'd get me a tryout if I joined theatre with him, but we haven't done anything yet."

"Friends already? My kid's a smooth operator."

The quiet sound of Byleth's snort reverberated down the hall, and for a moment, all was silent.

"Hey, kiddo?"

"Yes?"

"Love you to pieces. I'll be home in a few days, alright?"

Byleth mumbled something back, but Linhardt had already eavesdropped too much, and he slipped away with silent steps, not even the tile floors able to mark that he'd been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on twitter @kingblaiddyd


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update brought to you early by ludo <3333

The auditorium was dark and quiet, and Linhardt already wanted a nap.

Someone (Dorothea, probably) had thought it would be funny to have Ferdinand introduce both him and Byleth to their responsibilities as new techies, and what probably should have been a twenty-minute tour max had somehow turned into forty-five minutes of preaching about the historical importance of tech work as they occasionally poked through supply closets.

They hadn't even made it to the makeup or sound rooms yet; they'd probably die of old age before they had the chance.

"I see what you all meant when you talked about him before," Byleth whispered, shoulder just brushing Linhardt's as he bent toward him as subtly as he could. "He's definitely...passionate."

"He's a menace," Linhardt hissed back as Ferdinand expounded upon the virtues of a well-rounded techie. "I'm going to fling him off the catwalk."

Byleth laughed softly, just a quiet little thing, but Ferdinand was apparently attuned to any sounds of mockery and cut himself off, fixing them with a narrow-eyed glare.

"What, exactly, is so funny about the story of Moulin Rouge?" he snapped.

When had he started talking about that? "I think the dude's a creep," Linhardt offered, mostly just to see how red Ferdinand's face could get.

"The two of you have a _responsibility_ to this department, and I won't have you sullying it with unfounded opinions on theatrical masterpieces-"

"Excuse me?"

The voice came from further down the hall, high and nervous, and Linhardt already knew who it belonged to.

Ferdinand deflated almost immediately, putting on an almost alarmingly sunny smile. "Bernadetta! What can I do for you?"

"Um, sorry for interrupting! It's just that Dimitri said he wanted to talk to you? It seemed urgent."

"The two of you ought to consider yourselves lucky," Ferdinand all but growled, and for once, Linhardt had to agree. "We have a certain standard of decorum to maintain."

With that, he stomped off, only to be replaced with the slight figure of Bernadetta, who was all but dwarfed by the massive hoodie she was wearing.

"Are we going to actually learn practical information now?" Linhardt drawled, and Bernadetta laughed, even if the sound was a bit squeaky.

"I'll do my best!" She shot a glance at Byleth before her gaze skittered away with typical nervousness. "Um, I'm Bernadetta, but you can call me Bernie. Only if you want to, though! I, um, do most of the costuming."

Byleth nodded, face as serious as if she had just told him she coordinated the rising of the sun. This, if nothing else, seemed to set her a bit at ease. "Byleth."

"It's nice to meet you!"

He nodded again.

Her hands fluttered weakly around her chest, as though she could summon something to say with enough ventilation. "Do you, uh, know what you want to do?" she asked, near desperate now.

Linhardt decided to put her out of her misery. "I wouldn't mind learning makeup," he offered. "Dorothea makes me do hers sometimes when she's rehearsing at home. Says it helps her get in character."

Bernadetta visibly sagged with relief. "Oh, good! Ignatz has been standing in. He's really good, but he likes sets a lot better than people."

One of Byleth's now infamous (at least to Linhardt) snorts escaped him, and Bernie startled before settling into a facial expression that was something adjacent to pleased. "Sounds like you, Linhardt."

If Linhardt swatted him only to notice that he was much more solid than he appeared in his baggy clothes, then that was entirely by coincidence and he would _not_ be thinking further about it.

"What about you?" Bernie asked Byleth, managing to meet his eyes for a full five seconds.

"Building things sounds okay, but I don't know anything else, really." He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. "I learn quickly, though."

"Then, if you don't mind, Ashe handles a lot of the technical side of things right now. When you meet him, we can, uh, work something out then."

Byleth took this with all the solemnity of a soldier being sent off to war.

"So," Linhardt said, wanting nothing more than to collapse into the almost certainly disease-ridden armchair he'd spotted in one of the apparently infinite prop closets. "What's next on the tour?"

* * *

"That," Byleth began, slouching onto the hood of his car another hour later. "Was exhausting."

Linhardt joined him in a pile of spindly limbs, hair pulling as he flopped on top of it. It really did say something incredible about his level of exhaustion that he didn't even care. "No fucking kidding. I thought Bernie had saved us, not resigned us to another eternity of torture."

"She seemed so _shy_." Byleth's head thudded against the car's scratched paint job, and Linhardt noticed the dark blue of the Civic almost matched his hair. "I didn't even know there was that much to learn about one musical."

"Are you regretting our deal already?"

Linhardt hadn't known that a deadpan look could hold so much derision in it. "Hardly," Byleth drawled. "I've been...in this school a lot more than I've been in any other. I kind of like it."

"You're off your fucking rocker."

"Probably." Byleth smiled, small and true. "Want a ride home?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kingblaiddyd on twitter! consider saying hi to me as we are all so lonely rn lol


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's early update brought to you by ludo!!

As luck would have it, the first soccer game of the season was only a couple weekends after Byleth had maneuvered his way onto the team. Even better, it was a home game, so when Dorothea's ringtone (favorited so it would blast through Do Not Disturb, which was only allowed because she didn't abuse it too badly) woke up Linhardt that morning, it was at a reasonable hour, at least by most people's standards.

"Lin, get your ass up!" Dorothea had an uncanny way of admonishing him while still sounding like an entire cheering squad condensed into one person. "I'm supposed to bring oranges for Edie since Hubie is doing some smart person thing today, and he'll kill me if I miss her halftime."

Linhardt, still swaddled in a mountain of blankets and clad in what passed for pajamas if one were to squint, merely grunted.

"Lin. Hardt. Von. Hevring."

"Goddess, I'm up!" If Dorothea was able to hear the thud of five different blankets crashing to the ground, then hopefully she would know better than to comment. "The things I do just so you can ogle some pretty girls."

"Don't even start with me, Hevring." She was laughing, though, which meant he was probably safe from the worst of her wrath. "You can't tell me that you're not going to be sneaking some peeks of your new friend."

With a groan that sounded more like bending wood than an actual human noise, Linhardt got up and hurled his pajamas off with the sort of rage-fueled strength that only the truly sleep-deprived could wield. "Wow, you mean that I'm going to watch _both_ my friends? It's almost like that's the whole point of going to see them!"

Dorothea just laughed, clearly drawing her own conclusions. "Be ready in thirty, loser."

"Yes, fuck you too. Bring bagels or I riot."

She hung up on him, but not before he got that last part out. _Success_.

He dressed warmly even though summer had still left remnants of its warmth for the fall to pick up, bundling himself in a sweatshirt and a pair of track pants that had never seen a drop of sweat in their entire polyester life.

Despite the noise that a full skincare routine could cause when its practitioner was half-asleep and cursing every one of the decisions that had led them to this moment, Linhardt had almost successfully made it out of the house without having to make excuses when his shoe slipped out of his hand and tumbled down the stairs, clattering wildly.

 _Fuck_.

"And where are you headed off to, son?" came that most loathed of voices. "Because, as I recall, you didn't sign up to go to the academic meet like I asked of you."

"I'm showing school spirit." Linhardt lifted his free hand and pumped it halfheartedly. "Go, Garreg Mach."

Hevring the senior smiled wryly, the twist of his mouth more like irritation than any genuinely positive emotion. "And you didn't think to support your prestigious school by _adding_ to that legacy?"

"I thought I was supposed to 'treasure and maintain my close companionship with the Bergliez heir'?" Automatically, Linhardt crossed his arms in a defensive stance. "Not to mention befriend the new student? I think I'm listening pretty well, actually."

For a moment, Hevring the senior's brow creased with something like anger, but before Linhardt could even recoil properly, it was gone. "So you are. You'll need a ride, then."

"I have one." Linhardt's pocket buzzed with an insistent text.

"Well," his father said, baring his teeth in an approximation of a smile. "Do try and have some fun, alright?"

Linhardt tugged his shoes on and didn't bother to lace them before slipping out the door, heart in his throat.

Dorothea knew better than to park in front of what passed for his house (but could probably be more accurately described as a manor if he had half of Hubert's unnerving...charm), so it was only after he turned the corner off his street that he saw her, feet kicked up on the dashboard of a sports car that some lust-struck follower of hers had given her the money for.

"Thirty-two minutes, asshole!" she called, but when he didn't fire back, she pulled down her thrifted sunglasses and studied him as he approached. When he slid into the car and began to lace up his shoes, she clicked her tongue, a surefire signal that she was about to launch into full mother hen mode.

Secretly, he was more than a little grateful that she cared so much.

His phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn't from the friend beside him.

_I do hope that the others won't do poorly without you, son. That would be...unfortunate._

"Ran into Admiral Assclown?" Dorothea asked, pulling out of her picture-perfect parking job with a sympathetic glance thrown his way.

"Dropped my stupid fucking shoe down the stairs. He had a lot to say about me going anywhere after I didn't sign up for the meet today."

She clicked her tongue, and the sound of the derision was so palpable that it warmed him to his core. "I swear to everything holy, I hope he gives me an excuse to sock him in the jaw one day."

Pulling the last knot tight, Linhardt snorted and sank back into the passenger seat, letting his sweatshirt swallow him. "You and me both," he said, even though they both knew he would never have the stomach for it. "Now, did you pick up the bagels?"

Dorothea reached into the back and tossed him a slightly greasy bag. "Two asiago, two everything. I don't care which two you have as long as you save me an everything and buy my lunch today."

To neither of their surprise, he was sure, he took one of each and unlocked his phone again. A text from Caspar that he responded to with an absurd amount of cheery emojis, one from Petra thanking him for bringing the oranges and Dorothea...there it was.

So very few texts had been exchanged between Linhardt and Hubert, and all of them had been ever so curt.

 _Don't fuck this up,_ he sent. _Please._

The response came less than a minute later. _Maybe you should have come if our well-being concerns you so much._

 _Hubert._ Goddess, Linhardt hated being so vulnerable. _Please._

_Ah. Don't worry, it would look bad for Edelgard if we were to do poorly. You have nothing to worry about._

_Thank you._

"Everything okay, Lin?" Dorothea asked.

Linhardt sighed and took a giant bite out of his bagel. "Hopefully."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you by lark! thanks so much <333

Once they had the oranges in hand, the trip back down to the fields behind Garreg Mach was significantly more relaxed, if only for the citrus aroma that floated through the air.

"So what were you even supposed to do all day, if going anywhere wasn't meant to be an option?" Dorothea asked, allowing space for him to vent. It was considerate of her, really, and even if he hadn't necessarily wanted to, Linhardt was done with his bagels.

"Rue the day I ever ran counter to his idea of how I should run my life, probably. I don't even know if my joining tech will be a good thing or not, considering that it wasn't his suggestion."

"He should have invested in Polly Pockets, then." Dorothea's sunglasses were back on, and with them came a distinct lack of sympathy for anyone she didn't at least actively like. "If the bitch is so insistent on creating scenarios where he can control all the players, having a child is hardly the right way to go about that."

"Good luck finding anyone that far above the poverty line here who gets that."

She snorted derisively, the truth behind that statement all too clear. "You've never really hung out with Felix, have you? I know everyone says that he pretty much has the best dad, relatively speaking, and that might be true, but I'll be damned if he isn't fucking Felix up, too."

"Eat the rich," Linhardt said, and Dorothea solemnly agreed. She was a good friend, and even if she could be loud, pushy, and far too energetic, it was a good balance to all of his own apathy.

Sometimes, though, he was just tired, and, unbidden, his mind drifted to Byleth. _It's your business,_ he had said, and he had meant it. Even if Linhardt himself was inherently too nosy by half, the fact that Byleth had even thought to say that meant the world and more to him.

Dorothea didn't often drive fast, but half the time, he wished she would, just to give him an excuse to feel something other than the rising tide of numbness that threatened to hold him down and pin him where he sat.

His phone buzzed, chiming the unfamiliar melody of someone who he hadn't texted enough to dedicate a ringtone to. Even his dad had one by this point, and if it was far too ominous by half for the tastes of Hevring the senior, then it was a damn good thing that he was rarely around to hear it.

 _Hi._ It was Byleth, contact information inputted but hardly a chat history between them. _Caspar told me to tell you that he left his phone at home._

 _i am srsly going 2 go apeshit._ It was safe, he told himself. Byleth didn't care how formal he was or how exposed that might make him seen. _his head is legitimately gonna fall off. hate that bitch._

_But I want to know what this pre-game ritual is :(_

And wasn't that just absurdly fucking unfair? Linhardt was fully prepared to be stuck in the remnants of this foul mood until halftime, at the very least. Seeing inscrutable Byleth pout in a way that he never had during actual conversations shouldn't be so endearing, yet here he was, a small smile stretched across his face.

_u'll see._

"Are we still going through this phase where you continue to insist that you aren't into Byleth?" Dorothea asked, and he didn't have to look to know that she had a smug look on her face. "Or can we face the facts and point out that nobody makes you smile by texting like that?"

"You don't know what I look like when you text me," he replied, a more definitive answer than if he had actually bothered. "I could be grinning from ear to ear."

"You could be. You don't, though." There was the look that promised that, though she would say no more, for now, she couldn't wait to have him alone again. Linhardt was certain that they should have clipped the flashy car he was pretty sure belonged to Sylvain as they pulled into a parking spot, but Dorothea was perfectly within the lines and Sylvain's car was still pristine.

Goddess, he hated her sometimes.

"Grab the oranges, would you? I have Gatorade bottles in the back." With that, she all but flounced out of the car, reveling in the way he sulked.

"Bitch," he muttered, but there was no heat to it, real or otherwise. Instead, he followed her to the field where the girls played, just in time to see Edelgard send a pass damn near halfway across the field right to Leonie, who scored with a resounding _crack_ of her cleat against the ball.

"Woo, go Edie!" Dorothea cheered as the assembled crowds went wild and the referee blew the whistle for halftime. "That's my girl!"

By the time they reached the sidelines, their coach (who Linhardt now recognized as Holst Goneril, and really, that did wonders to explain how and why Hilda was actually going to practices now) had just about wrapped up any initial notes he had, and the team had marked their approach.

"Oh, you two really didn't have to bring us anything!" Edelgard exclaimed, jogging over to help Dorothea with the Gatorade packs. "Seriously, this is almost as bad as Hubert. I'm not ungrateful, of course, but..."

"Don't worry, Edie! I provide transportation and Lin provides the money. Let's talk about how dope that last pass was!" Dorothea grabbed the bag of oranges from him with a surprisingly subtle wink, tilting her head to the unmarked area not so far off, where the boys' coach stood in a power stance and half the team had arrived, slacking off until they could warm up properly.

She really was a good friend.

He hadn't made it more than halfway before Caspar was up and off like a shot, barreling toward him as though someone had crammed the fuel for eight different freight trains into his body. A mere second before they were set to collide, he stopped dead, only for his fist to rocket forward.

Linhardt met it with his own, launching into the handshake they had carefully crafted over the long years of their friendship, finishing with the sort of chest bump that always left him panting in the grass.

"We've been waiting for you!" Caspar cried out, and then Byleth was beside him, pulling him up with one unnervingly strong hand and smiling that same small smile he always seemed to wear when Linhardt saw him.

He had wanted to sulk so badly, stew in the horrid, bubbling broth of the feelings that always rose up when confronted with his father, but with the two of them looking at him like he _fit_ , it was hard.

Goddess, he was grateful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's early update brought to you by lark!

By the time their coach had successfully chased Linhardt away from Byleth and Caspar, the girls were nearly done with their game, and it was time for them to warm up.

Even still, there really was no call for Dorothea to be giving him that self-satisfied of a look when he found her in the makeshift stands.

"Can I help you?" he asked, arching a brow in the picturesque display of faux innocence he had learned from her years ago.

"Can you help yourself?" she returned, grinning wildly as she fished a Cheeto out of her bag. (Really, it was a mystery how they didn't spill everywhere.) "Seriously, it's a miracle that between you, Caspar, and your new boy, you've somehow managed to hoard all the social awareness. You are _all_ over him."

"That's enough from you, I think." He reached around her to snag an unopened pack from her bag, leveling her with the most unimpressed look he could muster. "If you're going to interrogate me, I'm at least going to eat through it."

"Linhardt von Hevring, is that _permission_?" Something uncomfortably like mania entered her eyes at that, and she leaned toward him, close enough that he could clearly pick out the subtle sparkle of her highlighter. "Tell me everything."

Like a sign from above, the distinctive voice of Gerard Way rang out from the pocket of his hoodie, and Linhardt allowed himself a sigh of relief as he drew out his phone. "Sorry, Hubert's calling."

"Hubie's a whore," Dorothea said as he picked up, and judging by the derisive sound that came from either end of the line, said whore had heard that all too clearly.

" _Was I bothering you?_ " Hubert said, voice cold as ice, though Linhardt remained unmoved. After all, that was no different than normal.

"Me? No. Dorothea, however, has just been denied gossip by virtue of your incredible timing, though."

" _So you're at the game, then._ " There was no surprise in his voice, and Linhardt felt no small amount of unease at the idea that he was so easily read. " _Tell me, how is Edelgard doing?_ "

"She's had a couple of assists since we got here, and we're winning pretty handily, but I honestly haven't seen much of the game. Dorothea can tell you more, if you want to give her a call, but the game's only a couple minutes from ending."

"Edie's killing it," Dorothea stage-whispered, and by the contemplative noise that Hubert made, he had clearly heard.

" _Good. I only called to inform you that we're doing... more than passably up here._ "

"Please just be direct," Linhardt sighed. "I wasn't kidding earlier when I asked you."

" _Then I will say that though Claude and Annette are the only two to have received their scores, they have both managed to exceed the heights we were shooting for._ " There was a pause on the other end even as Linhardt sighed his relief, but Hubert was not the type to be lost for words. " _If you don't wish for me to collect what you owe from this endeavor, then you will have to tell me what all of this nonsense is even about."_

Well, that settled it: Hubert was almost certainly sabotaging the students from other schools. Not that Linhardt was particularly broken up about it, of course, but he just... wouldn't mention academics to Edelgard if he could help it. "You of all people should know," he said instead of commenting, and Hubert knew too much to disagree.

" _Quite. I'll see you on Monday, and give Edelgard my congratulations._ "

When Linhardt hung up, Dorothea was still looking at him expectantly, but at least he had one less thing to worry about.

* * *

Maybe fencing was where Byleth's true passion lay, but there was nothing like the thrill of tension before a game was scheduled to begin, the electricity that threaded through his muscles as he studied his opposition with a team at his back and hunger in his heart.

Ferdinand was out until the second half with "prior engagements", whatever that meant, so the coach (Miles? Mike? Myson?) had reluctantly allowed Byleth to start as the center midfielder, people he could only faintly place as Dimitri and Felix readied on the outside as his strikers, and Caspar grinning wildly to the left, another midfielder ready to shoot off like a rocket.

The referee blew the whistle, Dimitri sent a solid pass to Felix, and they were all in glorious, blurry motion.

Byleth's blood sang in his veins as he kept pace with the front line, jostling whatever poor idiot had decided to block him off as an option to pass to. Felix was a menace, just as he'd been in every practice and every conversation Byleth had ever been privy to, a whirlwind of movement, lethal precision, and speed, and when a defender came upon him with brutal force, his heel snapped back against the ball and sped toward Byleth with incredible accuracy.

Oh, he _loved_ this team with an immediate ferocity that might have startled him had he not been so intent on the way he flicked the ball over another opposing team members shoulder in a flashy move that Jeralt had taught him when he was far younger.

Closer to their goal, Sylvain (from most of his advanced classes, he recalled) was hollering with barely restrained glee, and what had started as a shot that the defense had prepared for turned into a pass as Byleth crossed over the ball, planted his foot in front of it, spun, and delivered a crisp pass back to Dimitri, who was virtually undefended.

The ball erupted into the goal, the crowd cheered, and it was rare that Byleth had ever felt so alive.

A thousand miles away, a piece of him fell apart into nothing, but for now, all was right.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my lateness! i slept :(

They won both games handily. Linhardt was half tempted to make like half the Garreg Mach stands and cheer wildly, gesticulating rudely at the opposition's fans like there was more than just pride on the line, but when Dorothea actually _signed_ something that looked a whole lot like the sort of vocabulary that would get everyone in a five-foot radius expelled, he thought he'd better take his chances with seeming unenthusiastic.

Byleth had played like a beast; Linhardt had been to more of these games than he could properly count at this point, having spent his life attached to Caspar at the hip, but for all of the talent that the other players showed, there were very few who had the ferocity that his new friend displayed. Even Felix, for all of his usual snarling sulkiness, had cracked a smile that was visible from the stands as Byleth assisted him for the team's third goal somewhere near the seventieth minute.

It was beyond impressive, and once again, Linhardt felt that driving urge to pry Byleth apart and discover what mechanisms lay underneath. Whatever they were, they were like nothing he had ever seen before.

Now, though, before they had even fully left the field, but well after the spectators had begun to dissipate, Byleth was standing off to the side, taking a phone call. Whatever expression he had made to deter the coach (Myson, Dorothea had finally told him in exchange for a muttered confession that he _might_ hold an attraction for Byleth), it must have been suitably impressive, considering the bastard hadn't even made a move to reprimand the senior for it.

 _Shit,_ this need to know things would eat him alive.

"You should say something to him," Dorothea was saying, shaking her empty Cheeto bag in a futile attempt to conjure more, but he was on the sideline, studying what he could make out of Byleth's expression to discern what was happening. "He probably thinks you're cute too, you know. You really do have a great face."

"Thanks, creep," he replied, but his heart wasn't in it, and even as the stands began to take on a particularly deserted quality - everyone was far too eager to try and get a taste of Garreg Mach glory secondhand, especially what it came wrapped in twin blond and white-haired packages - Dorothea started to teach for him, concern more than evident in her gaze.

"What's wrong, Lin?" she asked, but then it no longer mattered what he thought had been happening, because Byleth had fallen to his knees as though physically struck. With a display of athleticism he hadn't even realized he possessed, Linhardt vaulted over the railing and streaked toward him, laces untying and flapping against his ankles as he went.

"Byleth!" he called, but the senior was shaking, trembling with more violence than he could have ever imagined seeing from his normally stoic friend. "Byleth!"

But either the senior couldn't hear him or he no longer had the capacity to care, because he was driven forward by the weight of his own unstoppable spasms, one hand knotting in the grass and tugging with a raw emotion Linhardt couldn't put a name to as he collapsed against the dirt, wracked with what could now clearly be labeled as sobs.

"Byleth!" For once, Linhardt couldn't bring himself to care about the protestations of his knees as he landed heavily beside his friend or the grass stains that would inevitably be left behind. Instead, he could focus on nothing else but the tangible judder of Byleth's body beneath the hand he had placed on his back, and he hoped to the Goddess that it was more help than hindrance. "What's wrong?"

Byleth said something that might have been words but were nothing except indistinguishable, garbled syllables with the mixture of tears, snot, and dirt that were more than obvious even from above.

"Can you sit up?" Linhardt asked, that vital calm overtaking him that garnered him so many friends and allies, from calming Dorothea's panic attacks pre-performance or settling a rare manifestation of the anger that Hubert kept desperately lock away. "You don't have to do it on your own. You can even lean on me if you want."

Byleth nodded, the motion indistinct and shuddering, but when he tried, his arms all but gave out on him, and it was only with Linhardt's assistance that he could even lift himself enough to get his face out from where he had all but crashed it into the ground.

Now was not the time to think about how he had never looked anything but calm and detached in the time that Linhardt had known him. Now was not the time to recoil in stock from his bleary, hopeless haze and the streaks of mud made of his own despair that painted his face with misery.

Now was the time to help, and if Linhardt couldn't do most things that mattered, then he was at least capable of this.

"Breathe with me," he said, raising one of Byleth's hands to his chest so they could both feel the steady rhythm of his lungs. "In and out, slower than you are now. You can do it."

Byleth was hiccuping now, but he did his best to follow along with misery-punctured airflow. His phone had fallen out of his hand, and on the moisture-laden screen, Linhardt could make out the name Rhea on the caller ID, but there was no time to process that particular revelation. Instead, he used his free hand to wipe away some of the mess on Byleth's face with the sleeve of his hoodie, and it was in this way that their breaths began to sync, calm and uninterrupted.

From the footfall behind him, Linhardt could tell that Dorothea had finally approached, and when she knelt down beside them, her face was uncharacteristically somber.

"Do you want me here?" she asked, voice soft as Linhardt had ever heard it, and Byleth seemed to have collected himself enough to nod.

As he sat up, he muttered something to her that had her reaching for his phone, but Linhardt suddenly wasn't tracking the exchange anymore as Byleth's arms came around him, gripping him in a hug that was more like a lifeline.

As he returned it with all the fervent comfort he had in himself to offer, he caught the tail end of Dorothea's conversation with Rhea, her voice turned angry.

"Give him some fucking time to grieve, you miserable bitch!" she hissed as Byleth clung to him for all he was worth. "Stop fucking talking about funeral arrangements for his father, for fuck's sake."

And all Linhardt could think was, _Oh. Shit._


	13. Chapter 13

It took about ten minutes to get Byleth stable enough to sit mostly on his own without pitching forward again and another twenty to get him okay enough to stand, but Linhardt didn't begrudge him a single moment.

Dorothea was an avenging angel in the flesh, spitting obscenities even _he_ hadn't heard over the phone before hanging up. By the choking half-laughs Byleth gave, fresh tears pouring down his face, the anger seemed to help him, giving him something to cling onto aside from the miserable facts.

Eventually, someone came to find Byleth, though, and rather naturally, that person was Dimitri. Dorothea stood between him and Linhardt and Byleth - where the former was doing his best to shield the latter - although the actual effectiveness was debatable, considering both the height and weight Dimitri had on her.

To Linhardt's mild surprise, however, Dimitri turned around so he was no longer facing any of them, affording a semblance of privacy.

"Forgive me for intruding," he said, and he actually sounded it. "Coach sent me out to, er, grab you, but I'll tell him there was an emergency and you had to go home."

"Are you?" Dorothea asked, and Linhardt wondered whether Dimitri could see the daggers she was shouting at him even if he couldn't see _her_. Given that even Byleth flinched, he thought that was probably the case.

"Of course. It's none of my business, and honestly, it's none of Myson's, either. I'll think of something plausible and tell you what I came up with later."

Dorothea visibly softened at that, though of course Dimitri still couldn't see. "Go, then," she snapped, but there was far less venom there than any of them might have expected.

"Are you okay to leave?" Linhardt mumbled then, aware that the shaking of the boy beside him had started to slow. "We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to. We just have to get to the car."

Byleth nodded, and in a manner that Linhardt wished he could think of as anything other than a procession, they managed to trudge over to the car.

"Top up or down?" Dorothea asked, and when Byleth gestured, the words stuck behind the tears and phlegm in his throat, she left it down and let Linhardt bundle him into the back, laying down with the spare blanket she kept tucked over him.

For a moment that could have been five seconds or five minutes, they sat there, neither of the two in the front willing to break the silence. Even Linhardt, whose natural curiosity was by no means sated, didn't feel the urge to have the situation explained to him.

Is the man that Linhardt had overhead only several days ago now gone? He had seemed so full of life, so... fatherly.

If people like that passed while certain bastards managed to appear as though they no longer aged, as though they would live forever and without regret, then what hope did Linhardt have?

"Byleth, the people who haven't already are going to soon. We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to, but I wanted to give you the choice."

Even Dorothea, whose less than stellar moments tended to leave her looking more along the lines of _tragically beautiful_ than anything truly bad, was chewing at her lip, the color now uneven and patchy.

"Can someone get my stuff?" Byleth asked.

And yeah, that had definitely been the dumbest move that either of the supposedly responsible parties could have made.

So Linhardt was now approaching the locker room while Dorothea stealthily parked on the other side of the school, and he found that dodging sweaty stragglers was rapidly turning it into one of his least favorite activities.

"Hevring, never would have thought I'd see you back here!" called a junior Linhardt could honestly say he'd never met in his life. "Got tired of watching us from the sidelines?"

Another one reached over to clap him on the shoulder, and when he dodged, the boy pouted. "Am I not your type?"

"Have you taken a look in the goddamn mirror lately?" he bit back. "Just because you're a fucking simp doesn't mean you get any points on the attractiveness scale."

Then he was free and in the locker room.

There were a few stragglers, of course, including a few who made unsavory faces at him, but beyond them was Dimitri, doing whatever it was captains did as he spoke with Dedue, Felix, and Sylvain. When he caught sight of him, however, he abandoned the conversation with a politeness that was nearly blinding in its intensity.

"What can I do for you?" he asked as though he hadn't just caught one of his teammates halfway through a truly expressive gesture. Linhardt found he kind of wanted that sheer unflappable manner.

"Byleth's stuff," he said. At this point, he wasn't much for talking, but Dimitri seemed to understand, procuring a key from a location that he couldn't discern but didn't want to try too hard at.

Unlike every other locker room Linhardt had ever seen the interior of, Byleth's was nearly spartan, his bag already packed and hanging. Honestly, that suited Linhardt just fine; he wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of rummaging through someone else's clothes, sanctioned or not.

By the time he had packed everything up and made it back to the car, Byleth's eyes were closed, and though he clearly wasn't sleeping, Dorothea raised a finger to her lips regardless.

With little more than the quiet thump of the bag against the floorboard and the click of Linhardt's seatbelt, they pulled out of the parking lot.

Inside Linhardt's pocket, his phone buzzed, but for once, it didn't matter at all.

**Author's Note:**

> ray + those of y'all who liked a million stars, this one is for you
> 
> i do commissions! check me out on twitter @kingblaiddyd for current prices and availability, and consider sliding me some caffeine to see my update frequency increase


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